


Preludes

by going_going_gone



Series: Funny Girl [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), Gotham (TV)
Genre: Awkward Crush, Business, F/F, Freak Family (Gotham), Gen, Harley in Gotham, Harley's a rube, Ivy and Jonathan are giving college a go, M/M, Near Future, Not Canon Compliant, if everything turned out good for my faves, part of a series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-09
Updated: 2018-03-09
Packaged: 2019-03-28 23:33:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13914528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/going_going_gone/pseuds/going_going_gone
Summary: Before the knock knock jokes and knock outs, before the Clown Prince, Harley met the freaks.





	Preludes

She didn’t meet him first.

Regardless of what the press in Gotham thought, she’d had a life before him. A good life—some would argue a better life, in fact. Not all of them, though. Not Jimmy Gordon, for instance. But it had been good enough for her.

            Logically, her life began when she was born, but she was of the opinion that it didn’t _really_ start until it got interesting. And there was nothing more interesting than her move to Gotham.

            She was eighteen years old, fresh out of Jefferson High School smack dab in the middle of Brooklyn, and fresh off the first bus headed towards Gotham. Her parents had argued with her for months, making ultimatum after ultimatum, whining, and at one point simply straight up forbidding her from going, but the fact was, the first time she’d learned that Gotham University had the most prestigious psychiatry program in the country, there was no getting the idea out of her head. 

            Eventually, Shari and Nick Quinzel let her go, begrudgingly supporting. Maybe it was guilt, or maybe they were secretly thrilled to be rid of their troublesome youngest daughter. Harley didn’t dwell on it. She didn’t have the time. She had a name to make and a city to conquer. Because if Harley was anything, it was optimistic.

            That is, until she went to class for the first time. Freshman year was supposed to be easy. It was supposed to be a piece of cake. She’d been at the top of her class at Jefferson—it was the reason she had the scholarship that was helping her afford the exorbitant prices that Gotham U charged—she’d expected to do just as well in college. School was easy for her. Harley was extraordinarily bright. But statistics was hard, and her new English professor seemed to have a personal vendetta against her. Her first C- felt like a punch to the gut. Plus, while her education was being paid for by a combination of her parent’s money and the charitable trust of some dead old lady back in Brooklyn, city living was expensive. She’d had to get two jobs to pay her rent, and some night she came home so tired from standing on her feet for hours while taking orders from assholes, or stocking shelves at the worst smelling grocery store in the world, that she didn’t have the energy to pick up a book and study for her Intro to Philosophy course. Months were passing and she felt like she was drowning in papers and utility bills.

            She was feeling pretty run down when she met Jonathan Crane and Pamela Isley.

            She was stumbling her way through the quad at about 8 at night when she caught sight of the striking pair. She’d seen them before, of course.  Jonathan was in her Psych prereq, and it was hard not to spot the “hottest girl on campus”—seriously, a frat had voted on it at the beginning of the month—being catered to around campus.

            They were the only people outside in the shivering October rain, smiling at each other and looking over a slip of paper together. She hunched over in her coat, determined to get to the library without being bothered by the pair, but they had a…reputation around campus. It was only rumours, admittedly, but apparently Jonathan Crane had made a girl cry at a party last weekend, and the next Monday, she’d dropped out of school and moved away. There was also the belief among the students that he was related in some way to Oswald Cobblepot, Gotham’s resident criminal Kingpin. Pamela had left at least two dozen men with broken relationships and depleted bank accounts in her wake. Apparently she’d fucked a few of her professors, too. Also, she’d been photographed at Cobblepot’s nightclub numerous times. This was, according to a girl Harley knew from work, basically proof of criminal wrong-doing.

            Point was, Harley wanted nothing to do with either of them. She wanted to put her head down and pass her first semester. Any thoughts of conquering the city were behind her by month two. Knowing only the bare minimum of the intricacies of the criminal underground of Gotham, Harley understood she didn’t stand a chance. People were _cruel_ here, and you were just as likely to be strung up by a freaky serial killer as you were to be mugged. She’d grown up in a rough part of New York, but Gotham was way worse. Even if all of the rumors about Crane and Isley were untrue, she wasn’t gonna risk it.

            Harley was basically bent in halfway, the way she hid behind her coat as she skirted the bench they were sitting on, but apparently that was even more attention grabbing than just walking like a normal person. Huh, who knew?

“Hey blondie!” Pamela called out, her raspy, sensuous voice snapped. Sensuous? God, Harley was embarrassed at _that_ thought.

Trying to conceal the inevitable blush, Harley straightened up, rubbing vigorously at a rain drop that had landed near her eye and was making its way towards her chin. “Yeah?”

“Come here,” Pamela cooed, crooking a long, pale finger tipped by a wickedly sharp manicured nail. The polish was a sickly yellow green. It turned Harley’s stomach.

“Uh, sure. I just- Library closes in like two hours, so I need to…” Pamela smiled then, and Harley felt it in her throat, before it traveled through her chest and into her belly before going…lower. This girl was, had to be, the prettiest Harley had ever seen. She was movie star gorgeous. She’d heard them call Pamela the hottest girl on campus, but she’d had no idea until she’d seen her up close. Now she could understand why a professor might through his career, marriage, hell even his life away for one night with her.

“Jonathan and I have this little bet, see,” Pamela began as Harley stumbled closer to their bench. The boy in question was sobering from his early laughter, staring at Harley like she was an insect he was dissecting. Or maybe a rodent. She shivered.

“Bet?” she mumbled, blinking in confusion. When her eyes turned back to Pamela, the girls smile had gained an edge.

“See, I’ve worked my way through most of the guys on campus. I’ve been complaining about how _boring_ they are now, and Jonny was a little annoyed, so he bet me I couldn’t work my same magic on a girl. I told him that was narrow-minded. I mean, we’re a modern city. Same sex relationships are practically old hat at this point. Right?”

“Uh, I’m sorry, what?” Harley asked. She was tugging her coat close to her, trying to clear her head. Was Pamela…propositioning her? Because, if so, Harley had no freaking idea what that meant. She didn’t even really know what her answer would be. She’d never really been with another girl before. Thoughts, sure. But then, she’d been a cheerleader in high school, and who didn’t think about their teammates in their short little skirts when they masturbated—no one else on her team did, and they’d made very clear in her senior year, but others, surely. She swallowed thickly. This line of thinking would not end up in a good place for her. She was sure of it.

“I think you’re talking too fast for her, Pammy. She’s in my psych class. She seems a little… _slow_.”

Harley’s thoughts cleared immediately. “Excuse me? Did you just call me stupid or somethin’? No, don’t answer. You spend enough time trying ta lord yer “superior intellect” over everyone in that class. I mean, how can someone get a word in when yer mouth don’t shut?” she snapped. She regretted instantly, especially the part where her accent came through loud and clear, making her sound way too much like the dumb blonde stereotype she’d been fighting her whole life.

He looked like he wanted to murder her, but Pamela grabbed his upper arm and began bouncing up and down in her seat.

“Wow, I _like_ her.”

“I don’t.”

“Who cares?” Pamela countered. “Besides, she’s right. You monopolize conversation. No one can get a word edge in when operant and classical conditioning are the topic.”

Harley felt her heart jump when Pamela talked about conditioning. She could respect, maybe even admire, a girl who knew her way around the DSM.

“Anyway, as I was saying—oh, what is your name, exactly?”

“Harleen,” Harley replied. She winced at the snort Jonathan gave at that revelation. For good reason. She’d emailed all of her professors’ weeks ago asking them not to use her full name in class. She didn’t need the entire campus knowing her full name. Harley was preferable. Which is why it came as a surprise when she used the full name in front of Pamela. “I’m Harleen Quinzel, but please, call me Harley.”

“Harley? Cute. Anyway, Harley, I was just wondering if you’d help me win my bet with Jonathan?”

“What was the bet again?” she asked, mind blanking for a moment. Pamela was leaning forward, making really intense eye contact, and she was getting flustered, trying really hard not to glance down at the place where Pamela’s low cut blouse ended.

“Doesn’t matter. Point is, I want to take you out. On a date. All you have to do is say-“

“Sure!” Harley exclaimed, flushing at the eagerness of the single word reply. Her breathing was a little irregular, and if she didn’t leave right now she thought she might actually explode. “I- I mean, I’d love to. I, uh, I can give you my number, if you want to just text me the details?”

“I don’t use a phone,” Pamela told her, making a little face. “Do you know how many toxic components from mobile phones are dumped in landfills each year? They kill animals and plants and destroy the environment.”

“Oh, well,” Harley stuttered. Part of her wanted to break her phone apart in front of Pamela’s eyes to prove her devotion, but she resisted that urge simply based on the fact that it was her parent’s money paying for her phone, and if she wanted another one after one weird encounter with the most beautiful girl in the world, she’d have to pay for that one out of her own paycheck. “I guess I could-“

“No, don’t worry about it. I have all the info right here,” Pamela assured her, leaning out with the flyer they’d been laughing over earlier in her perfectly manicured hand. Harley reached out for the paper, frowning when Pamela didn’t hand it over immediately. Instead, she drew her closer with a slight tug, and then she was brushing a single finger down Harley’s hand, offering a killer smile that made Harley afraid she might faint right there on the spot. “Can’t wait to see you again, Harley.”

Harley nodded. When it was obvious their encounter was drawing to a close, mostly because Pamela handed the flyer over and turned back to Jonathan like she wasn’t there, Harley backed away. She turned at the last second and started for the parking lot where her car was sitting under the brightest streetlight in a three block radius.

“I thought you were headed to the library?” Jonathan Crane called out, voice mocking. She blinked.

“Oh, yeah.” She turned on her heel and hurried past them towards the library. She half expected them to call her back and laugh at her for thinking Pamela would ever consider taking _her_ out. Or maybe they’d call her a slur and make fun of her for being open to a date with another girl in the first place. Instead, they left her alone, she made it to the library with plenty of time to study, but basically no motivation. When the librarian rushed her out of the building at 10 pm, she looked around the quad for them, but they were nowhere to be seen. With that, she felt comfortable enough to look at the flyer they’d given her. She’d been afraid to pull it out in the library, in case it had something wretched scrawled across the paper, but when she opened it up, it was simply a flyer for the Iceberg Lounge.

She was a little confused about it. Apparently the nightclub was holding something called a “Rogues Night” that Friday starting at 7:30 pm. Whatever it was probably wasn’t good, but even while she thought about not showing up, she knew it wasn’t going to happen. She was going, whether it was smart or not. Besides, she had that weekend off anyway.

           

Harley wiped out one of her credit cards on Pamela before they’d even had their first date. She wondered, giddy with stress and exhaustion, if that was the fastest Pamela had ever ruined anyone’s life. But honestly, her dress was amazing, and even if this was a bad idea, Harley could just wear it every day for three years to make up for the cost. She skipped her classes on Friday to figure out what she was gonna do with her hair. Probably also a bad idea, but at this point, she was too far gone. What was one absence anyway?  

She spent way too long on her hair, fucking with it for so long that at some point it just quit cooperating. She couldn’t get curls to take, and any way she let it fall looked way too effortful. She couldn’t French braid to save her life, so that was out. Frustration over took her and she finally settled on pulling it into a messy little know at the back of her neck. She pulled to thick strands out of the knot and let them frame her face. It looked…fine, maybe a little contrived. At this point though, she was over it. Giving a little moan, she moved on to makeup.

She’d noticed that Pamela gravitated towards green, and Harley had considered trying to add a pop of green somewhere in her appearance, but had ultimately decided that if she wore a red dress, it would just make her look like a Christmas present. Having taken that into consideration, she would be sticking with what she knew. Once her makeup was done, she stared at herself in her tiny mirror for a moment. The dark brown eye shadow made her blue eyes pop, or at least that was what that makeup tutorial had told her when she was like sixteen. A dark red tube of lipstick she’d gotten for her birthday months ago complimented the look. She’d gone a little light on foundation, but only because she wasn’t sure if her makeup was cruelty free, and she was frightened Pamela might ask. Better safe than sorry.

Finally, after wasting her day moping around the house, eating shitty junk food, and retouching her makeup, it was near enough to seven for her to put her dress on.

The red dress was, as the saleswoman had assured her, a classic. It was dark, almost the color of blood, silk, and most important of all, revealing without being obvious. All of this had been conferred to her by the saleswoman, who must have sensed Harley’s desperation after wondering around the high end boutique for the better part of an hour. The woman had been a little prying, too, asking way too many questions about what Harley wanted the dress for, but they’d finally settled on the little garnet number.

The sleeves were long, which felt classy to Harley, even if she knew _shit_ about clothes that weren’t from Old Navy, and the skirt fell to her knees. It would have been a little too modest if not for the daring slit that revealed most of her left thigh. The fabric molded to her body.

Basically, the dress was killer, and Harley felt amazing when she put it on. She was almost calm, even as alarm on her phone rang. She had no idea why she’s set it, considering she’d been watching the time on her phone since four-o’clock.

The address of the Iceberg Lounge was on the flyer, but even if she hadn’t had that Harley could find her way there. All she had to do was get into a cab and tell them, and anyone of them would have been able to get her there. No one was ignorant of the Iceberg Lounge, no matter how closely they clung to the straight and narrow. Still, she’d decided it was a better idea to take her own car, just in case this date went south. Plus, she really didn’t want to deal with a cabbie who took one look at her dress and assumed she was rich. Being robbed was at the bottom of her to-do list, not the top.

The drive took exactly as long as the GPS claimed it would, even in city traffic, which Harley accepted graciously as a sign from God, and when she pulled in to the side street leading to the club, a man in a tuxedo that had _coattails_ stopped her and explained that he was a valet. She was suspicious for a moment, wondering if it was a grift, and she was gonna leave the club only to find her car gone, but she could clearly see other men in the same uniform offering their services to people who’d pulled in before and after her. She nodded, offering him a shy smile before dropping her key chain into his waiting hand.

With that, she made her way towards the entrance of the club. There was a line that she’d winced at, resigning herself to a long wait, before she remembered that she had been invited by someone who, by all intents and purposes, had a relationship with the owner. She steeled herself and strode right to the door. A burly man with a striking amount of cruelty in his gaze stared down at her.

“You missed the line,” he growled.

“Oh, yeah, sorry, but I’m supposed to be meeting someone in there,” she explained.

“Lounge ain’t open to just anybody tonight, girlie,” he snapped.

She hurriedly pulled the flyer from her purse, holding it up for him to read. Maybe it was like an invitation.

He snorted at her. “Those ended up all over town. You’re not getting in.”

“But I’m supposed to meet-“ she perked up. “I was invited by Pamela Isley.”

He stared at her, face twisting into a snarl. “I don’t know who the hell that is, little girl.”

“Pamela Isley! She knows the _owner_!” Harley insisted.

“If you don’t leave me alone right now, I’m gonna-“

“ _What_ are you gonna do, Tommy?” Pamela’s voice broke the man out of his angry threat. She looked _stunning_. She was wearing a floor length green velvet dress that plunged almost to her navel. Harley was struck dumb at the sight of her, unable to explain the situation to Pamela, unable to really even think. Mostly she was just _looking_.

“Uh, Miss Ivy. Sorry, I just-“

“I told you to look out for my guest at the door. I even wrote her name down for you. Can’t you read?”

“She never gave me her name, Miss Ivy!” Tommy said. His voice was desperate, and Harley regained enough awareness to recognize true fear. She was reminded once more of what part of Gotham she was in, and the stories they told about Pamela at school.

“He’s right. I never told him my name,” she said, resisting the urge to rub her sweaty hands on the front of her dress. She didn’t want to mess with the silk.

Pamela turned to look at her, eyes roving over Harley like she was a particularly delectable steak. It made her toes curl and her hair stand on end. “You look nice, Harley,” Pamela said. “Now, let’s go. I want Jonathan to see what you’re wearing.”

Without another word to Tommy, as if he was lower than dirt under her amazing, six inch black stilettos, the older woman grabbed Harley’s hand in a vice like grip and began carting her through the thick frosted glass doors and into the lounge.

It was amazing. The walls pulled off a shimmering white illusion that made Harley feel like she was in a palace made of ice, and the ceiling dripped crystal chandeliers that look vaguely like Cobblepot’s preferred symbol, the umbrella. Everyone in the room was decked out to the nines, although all of them looked vaguely _dangerous_ to her. She could have marveled at the sights if Pamela wasn’t dragging her towards the grand staircase separated from the general mass of people by a single guard and a classic red velvet rope.

The guard didn’t even spare a glance at Harley, just spotted Pamela and hurried to remove the red velvet obstacle so the red-headed woman could stride purposefully up the steps. Harley focused solely, from then on, on not tripping up the stairs in her cheap black heels.

“How long have you lived in Gotham?” Pamela asked her, tossing her a look over her shoulder that threatened to steal Harley’s breath away.

“Just since the beginning of the semester. Moved here for school.”

“Yes. You’re eighteen, right?”

“Yepperoni.” She winced at the weird slang, but Pamela seemed to ignore it, falling silent once more.

They finally crested the stairs, and Harley was met with a mind numbingly frightening sight. Even with all the stories, all the rumours about just who Pamela knew, she was still taken aback when Oswald Cobblepot was just there all of a sudden. She stared at the thin pale man with spiky black hair she’d seen numerous times on the news.

There were others, too, but even the freaky looking guy with icy blue eyes and white hair in a weird space suit wasn’t as…intimidating as the Penguin. A man in an eye-searing green suit was seated right beside him, their hands intertwined. She vaguely recognized him.

The rest of the people populating what was obviously the Iceberg’s VIP area were just as _eccentric_ looking. There was a girl wearing a metallic mesh suit with goggles pushing long dark hair out of her face, and girl with cat ears perched vicariously atop her head, a man without a single bit of hair on his head, and a pair of wicked looking women dressed in what could only be described as dominatrix gear, one blonde and pale the other brunette and dark skinned. She took a steadying breath as Pamela drew them closer.

“Where’s Jonny?” Pamela asked the group at large. They were all staring right at Harley. It was making her skin itch.

“Ivy, don’t be _rude_. Introduce us to your date!” the Penguin exclaimed. He wasn’t moving, but Harley could sense an unrestrainable manic energy that seemed to radiate off of him.

“This is Harley Quinzel. She goes to GU. She the girl Jon and I have been talking about,” Pamela—or was her real name Ivy, Harley wondered if it was an affectionate nickname—said. She drew Harley to her side. “She’s a newbie here to Gotham.”

“Hello,” Harley said, raising a shaking hand to wave at the group.

“So she’s _real_. And you brought her here _tonight_!” Penguin said. The words seemed to be significant, but she couldn’t puzzle out what that meant.

“She’s _pretty_ , Ivy!” the blonde dominatrix practically purred. She stepped forward, but Pamela (Ivy?) just shot her a look.

“Not now, Babs.”

“Jon will be here in a moment,” Penguin answered Pamela’s earlier question, perhaps in an attempt to distract them. “Miss Quinzel, would you like to be introduced to everyone?” he asked.

She was silent, hesitating for perhaps a minute too long, because Penguin stood suddenly. She tried not to flinch, but it was obvious from the flash of irritation on his face she’d been unsuccessful. “Uh sure,” she answered, before he or Pamela could answer for her.

She learned everyone’s names before Jonathan showed up. The freaky looking astronaut was Victor, as was the bald man, although Penguin assured her she could call him Zsasz—did that name ring a bell?—and the girl with the cat ears was appropriately called Cat. The girl with the goggles called herself Bridgit, and the pair of leather kink women were introduced as Barb and Tabbie. The man in the green suit was Ed, and Harley was sure she knew him. Edward Nygma was as frequent in his appearances on the news as the Penguin. She wondered if she should just run, before it was revealed that Pamela was actually the Zodiac Killer and _she_ was actually Jeffrey Dahmer.

Who knew that the stories being corroborated by literally everyone on GU’s campus would be true? Oddly enough, not Harley, for one. _God_ , she was an idiot, and now she could only imagine what weird sacrificial murder she’d have a starring role in.

“Are you alright, Miss Quinzel?” Penguin asked as he returned to his seat beside the fucking Riddler. His smile was pleasant, kind even.

“Oh, you know, just not used to talking to this many people at once. I’m a loner, really.”

Pamela chuckled. “No you’re not. You’re never alone if you can help it.”

Harley turned to her with a surprised look. “How do you know that?”

“I see you around campus. You’re always with at least five other people. You’re a social butterfly.”

She wanted to be creeped out, really, but all Harley could think about was that the Alpha Phi Lambda certified Hottest Girl On Campus had noticed. She gulped.

“Wow, she actually showed up?”

Harley turned to watch Jonathan Crane as he reached the top of the stairs. He was carrying a tray of drinks and had a stormy look on his face. Whether that was because of her presence or the fact that he’d been forced to go get everyone a drink—even though Harley could tell they had plenty of employees eager to serve them—she had _no_ idea.

“Told you,” Pamela said. Harley frowned at the pair of almost identical smirks that appeared on both of their faces.

“Uh-“ she began, struggling to figure out the best way to extricate herself from this situation. She’d made stupid decisions before, but this _had_ to top the list.

“I don’t understand why you’re still doing this,” Cat said from her perch on top of the sofa the Penguin and the Riddler were reclined on. “I mean, it never turns out good for you, Crow-boy.”

“This is different,” Jonathan said. “For obvious reasons.”

“How? It’s not about gender,” Pamela argued. “Why do you think it didn’t work on Pengy?”

 _Pengy_? Had Pamela just called a gangster on the level of Penguin by a cute pet name? How did this become Harley’s life?

“Rude,” Riddler said, but he was laughing.

“I’m confused,” Harley professed, extricating herself from the grip Pamela had on her hand.

“Oh boy aren’t you,” Barb giggled.

“We really shouldn’t be so rude,” Penguin said. “Sorry, Miss Quinzel. Why don’t you have a seat. Maybe Jon could fetch another drink.”

“No way. You made your point Oswald. It won’t happen again,” Jonathan growled, rushing past them and plopping himself firmly in a free arm chair.

“It better not,” the Penguin warned, but his tone was affectionate.

“I’m not-“ Harley began, but hesitated when their collective gazes all fell back on her. “I’m only eighteen. And I’m pretty sure this place is out of my price range.”

Penguin laughed. Cat snorted, holding up a slim glass of champagne. “I’m only twenty.”

“Truly, it’s no issue, Miss Quinzel. What can we get you?” Penguin assured it.

Harley normally wouldn’t ever pass up the chance for free drinks, but she _really_ didn’t want to be at less than 100% of her faculties around these people. She’d never been able to handle her alcohol.

“Really-“

“I insist,” Penguin pressed, and she knew it wasn’t really an option now.

“A beer would be fine,” she said, shrugging when he frowned at her choice.

“We have excellent cocktails.”

“I don’t really know about-“

“I’ll surprise you. Something sweet?” Penguin flagged a waiter the barest of gestures, barely a twitch of his finger, and the man hurried forward. She nodded, and he whispered something in the man’s ear. He took off without a second’s hesitation, rushing towards a smaller bar set across the room from their seating area.

“Now, really, you must sit. I consider Ivy a part of my family, and I’m just so eager to get to know you. I mentioned it before, but she really _hasn’t_ stopped talking about you.”

“Pengy,” Ivy—Harley was just going to except that, at this point—scolded the man. Her eyes were sharp, but it didn’t deter him.  

He patted the open spot on the couch to his right. There was just enough room for her, leaving Pamela to sit on a chaise lounge right beside it. Harley was anxious at this point, completely on edge, and even if she’d really only known Ivy for a combined twenty minutes, that was more than these people. She almost refused, but considering how well refusing a drink had gone, she decided against it. Barb was using the small table located in the center of all of their chairs as a footrest, and when Harley tried to maneuver over it, she only laughed.

“I wish you’d-“ she began, but a curt clearing of the throat from Ivy made her stop. With a wicked smile, she moved her legs, allowing Harley past.

“Barbara, do you need to take a walk?” Penguin asked. The woman pouted, shook her head, and settled further into her armchair, where Tabbie was also siting. It looked like a tight fight for both of them, but the body language of both of them told Harley they were used to much, much more.

Harley settled herself onto the couch beside Penguin.

“Where are you from?” he asked immediately. “I assumed, but you’re not a Gotham native, correct?”

“New York. Brooklyn, specifically.”

“She hides the accent well,” Ivy laughed. Harley blushed, remembering her outburst from the beginning of the week.

“So you came here for college?” Nygma asked, suddenly interested in the conversation.

She nodded. “I know it’s not everyone’s first choice, but I couldn’t pass it up once I got into my program.”

“Oh? What are you studying?”

“Psychiatry.”

The group fell suddenly and deafeningly silent, except Ivy, who was practically giggling, her smile was so big. She stared at them, confused. Scrambling for what could have set off the sudden death stares, Harley shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

“Psychiatry?” Barbra repeated, looking suddenly murderous. “You’re gonna be a shrink?”

“Yeah,” Harley breathed, ready for one of them to leap across the table and attack her.

“Hoping for a position at Arkham?” Nygma asked. “Do you want to help the poor souls who get locked up there?”

 _Oh_. _Yeah_. Most of these people were probably way too familiar with Arkham Asylum to welcome someone who wanted to be a psychiatrist with open arms. She shivered, wondering what the chances of her getting out of here alive were exactly.

“Um, I was actually hoping to work in New York. Maybe start a practice?”

 “So you’re gonna move back to the Big Apple and feed pills to aging Broadway actresses?” Cat asked.

“Hm. Well, good luck with that,” Nygma muttered. “Not many people escape Gotham once they’re infected.”

“Infected?” Harley asked.

“This city is poison,” Ivy said. Harley stared at her, trying to pick apart the smile on her face. It wasn’t _really_ a smile, just a facsimile of one. It was sad, underneath. When she looked at the collection of what she now had to assume was Gotham’s most wanted, she saw a reflection of that sad smile. Except Victor Zsasz. He just seemed bemused.

While the group fell into an unsteady silence, the waiter from earlier returned, carrying a tray holding a single tall glass of pink, fizzing alcohol. He offered to Harley with a flourish. She grabbed it and drank about half the glass. She was going to ignore her assessment from before. She _needed_ to be drunk to get through this night.

Penguin shook his head, as if dislodging a particularly troublesome thought, straightening in his seat and leaning towards Harley, enthusiasm for her presence renewed. He placed a gentle, black gloved hand on her knee, where her dress fell away to reveal skin.

“I hope this doesn’t come as a disappointment, but you’re not here simply to satisfy the terms of some bet. We wouldn’t insult you that way.”

She didn’t know whether to be relieved about that. Maybe she had thought she knew what she was getting into, when she’d said yes to Ivy. The woman’s track record with romance was pretty common knowledge. She seduced a man, took everything she wanted from him, and then left him to deal with the wreckage. Whether she’d been proof that Ivy could do the same thing to a girl, or some sort of self-centered attempt on Ivy’s part to break from that pattern, it was all bad news. Harley had thick-skin, but Ivy was the most enchanting girl she’d ever met. Her words were raspy and breathy and sensual. Harley would’ve been happy to fulfill whatever this was. She was good at helping people, even at great personal cost. Her high school dating track record had been filled with mommy issues and power imbalances.

Was it better that she wasn’t going to be falling into her same old patterns? Maybe, if that didn’t mean Ivy had brought her here for Penguin. Because she wasn’t cut out for whatever Penguin had in mind. Never mind the fact that they’d waited until she was literally trapped among them to reveal the nature of the ruse. She couldn’t just walk away now, not with Barbara’s smooth, long legs tucked back up on the table, and Penguin’s hand stroking her knee. Not with Zsasz shifting foot to foot, hands clenched in front of him. Maybe he was resisting the urge to reach for a gun.

She was in deep shit.

“Please, explain why I’m here,” she said, gesturing towards Penguin as if to urge him onward. It was impressive, at least to Harley, how come she was staying. She _really_ had a head for this stuff. God, she was going to make—would have made? — a good shrink.

“Simply put, Miss Quinzel, you haven’t made any sort of impact on Gotham. You’ve only been here for, what was it, two months?”

“Three.”

“Three months. So you haven’t had the chance to accrue any enemies, and though it’s clear you’ve made friends, they’re not close ones, are they?”

 _Ouch_ , that hurt. It was true, sure, she had plenty of acquaintances and zero real friends, but still, way to kick a girl when she was down. Plus, the thought of these people knowing a whole lot about her life made her wonder just how safe she was in her apartment alone. She settled for a noncommittal shrug, which Penguin took as a yes.

“So you’ve got no close friends, your family lives out of state, and you’re practically a poster girl for social responsibility. I read your college application-“

Harley tried to keep the discomfort and surprise off her face. Penguin pushed on, which she hoped was a point towards her poker face.

“You were active at your Synagogue, helped at a soup kitchen every other weekend, your extracurricular activities are stellar, and you were even a _cheerleader_. You’re a perfectly upstanding citizen.”

“Uh, thanks. I try.”

“Exactly. You try very hard, Miss Quinzel. And yet, you work two minimum wage jobs, live in a—pardon me— but a _truly_ terrible apartment, and your grades are less than satisfactory. Gotham has made you suffer just like the rest of its citizens.”

“What’s your point?” Harley asked She tried not to grit her teeth at his words. She was trying her hardest. She truly didn’t understand why she was here, other than to be judged by a bunch of… She steadied herself with a deep breath. There was nothing she could do but sit there, so getting worked up wasn’t going to help her. She took another large gulp of her drink.

“Apologies, Miss Quinzel. I didn’t mean to upset you. It’s just, we both need something. I need someone squeaky clean to take care of a…middle territory of sorts, and you need to stop working your fingers to the bone for no reward. I’m willing to pay you quite a lot of money simply to keep your door open to me and my associates.”

Mind reeling, Harley finished off the rest of her drink, sinking back into the couch and laid her head back against the plush upholstery. She could feel them staring at her, waiting for her answer, and for a moment she felt like she had the upperhand in this. It was an illusion, of course. She’d obviously had enough time to connect the dots, and even if they let her out of here alive, there was no guarantee she’d be safe _outside_ of this building. Maybe they’d chalk her up as another dumb blonde, but she’d have to _really_ dumb. And it was obvious they knew enough about her not to underestimate her intelligence. There was really only one choice, and it wasn’t technically the worst option. What Penguin was describing wasn’t exactly illegal, per se. Harboring a criminal, sure, but who would look for the Riddler at _her_ apartment. Penguin was right, her apartment building was a _shithole_.

Still, her curiosity got the better of her. “What happens if I say no?”

Penguin chuckled. “We’re not going to threaten you, Miss Quinzel. What good is a safe house if the person in charge of it holds a grudge? No, I’m simply offering to make your life much, much easier if you agree.”

She sighed. “What if the cops figure it out.”

“If you do a good enough job, they shouldn’t. but I won’t sugar coat this for you. If you get caught aiding and abetting, we won’t risk ourselves for your sake. Not at first, at least. But if you prove yourself, perhaps eventually…”

“Right, I mean, it’s a nice offer, but-“

“You refuse?” Barbara asked, leaning towards her with an unstable smile. She looked giddy.

“What? No, I was just gonna say that I think you’re overestimating my ability to fly under the radar. I mean, you’re right, I’m super impressive, super charitable and all that-“

“And modest,” Jonathan scoffed.

“Point is, I’m great an’ all, but I’m also a rotten li’ya,” she confessed. She noticed her accent poking through her words but ignored the impulse to conceal it. If they were being honest, she was she.

“If all goes to plan, you won’t actually have to speak to the police, Miss Quinzel.”

“Well, if that’s tha case, I’m game. If you’re ready ta pay me, I’m ready to work.”

“Excellent, Miss Quinzel. I’m excited to hire you.”

“Oh, if your gonna pay my rent, we’re friends, Mr. Cobblepot. And my friends call me Harley.”

“Alright, Harley. Let’s be friends.”


End file.
